Skin and Bones

I’m sitting quietly on the couch. I know it’s okay to turn on the TV, but I like the silence – for once in my life.
I washed up the bowl and spoon. I try not to think about it, though – try not to think of my failure.

I sit quietly with my feet up on the couch. Mikey does this whenever we watch a movie or play some game. It’s like his feet are magnets and the couch is the North Pole. Or a fridge door.

Their living room is dark. Their thick, dark curtains are always drawn due to the crime in the area. They live just two streets down from where I live – or do I? – but they live a lot closer to the park. It’s the park where everyone supposedly goes to die. I think it’s kinda hard to kill yourself by stabbing a knife in your own back. Or shoot yourself from three feet away. It sure as hell would take some mean skills.

I wonder if that’s where my mom picked up that guy. He could pass for a murderer. She might be dead now – he could’ve killed her.
Do I care?
I don’t know.
I shouldn’t care, should I? She abused me. She stopped loving me just because I…
I have anorexia. And I’m gay.
And she hates me for it. All those years as a caring, gentle mother who always protected me are just gone now because of two simple, tiny little things that aren’t even my fault! I didn’t choose to be like this! I didn’t! It just…sorta…happened.
Gerard just sorta, kinda happened. I don’t even know when or why I fell for him, I just sorta, kinda did. And it just sorta, kinda happened that he sorta, kinda liked me back. And could I perhaps just sorta, kinda stop saying sorta, kinda!

I sound like a girl. I wonder if I was really supposed to be a girl. Maybe my genitals just developed wrong, but I actually do have a vagina and all that shit. Maybe I am a girl. Or a hermaphrodite. Or maybe I just produce a lot of estrogen, but I’m still a guy. I once saw on ER where this wo-man was told s-he was pregnant, but then because she was actually a guy and that when guys produced that hormone, then he actually had testicular cancer. So maybe I have cancer?

Wow; that went from me sounding a girl to having cancer. How the fuck did I get there? Something about hormones.

I hear the front door open and I tear myself away from my weird way of thinking. I look up and into the hallway and see Mrs. Way with her arms filled with grocery bags as she tries to close the door – failing at the latter.
I quickly bring my feet down from the couch and they hit the floor just as she looks up.

“Frank! You’re up,” she says cheery, yet exhausted. I smile vaguely. She doesn’t see it, because she’s about to drop one of her bags.
“Could you help me, honey?” I feel a warmth spread through me and a genuine, wide smile spread on my face.
I quickly get up and run across the room to grab a few of the many bags. She smiles.
“Thanks, hon,” she says shortly, before she turns and walks down the hall towards the kitchen.
“Close the door, will you?” I smile at her back, before I turn around and close the wooden door with no creaks or cracks. My face feels like it’s on fire by the time I get to the kitchen.